


Operation Triad

by second_skin



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Awkward Sexual Situations, Backstory, Developing Relationship, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-28
Updated: 2012-06-28
Packaged: 2017-11-08 18:56:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/446400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/second_skin/pseuds/second_skin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“If this relationship is going to work, Phil, you’re going to have to get over your hangups and let Natasha sleep with us.”</i><br/>Clint really should have mentioned this earlier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Operation Triad

“If this relationship is going to work, Phil, you’re going to have to get over your hangups and let Natasha sleep with us.”

Phil just kept brushing his teeth. He wasn’t used to what sounded a lot like an ultimatum from Clint. He considered for one brief moment whether there was any ethical defense for tasing your sweetheart just because he was really getting on your nerves. The answer, sadly, was no.

He spit and rinsed off his toothbrush. Turned around to look at Clint leaning against the doorframe with his ridiculously gorgeous arms folded across his equally ridiculously gorgeous chest. He was frowning. Also adorable. And annoying. And brave. And completely exasperating.

A hell of a lot of work, this relationship.

Phil closed his eyes and sighed. A few months ago this discussion would have been inconceivable. Back before he and Clint finally admitted what everybody else at SHIELD already seemed to know, and became a thing, a couple, partners—whatever the right word was. Not boyfriends. God, Fury would never stop laughing if Phil called Clint his boyfriend.

Before Clint, the notion of inviting a woman into his bed would have been absurd to Phil. He’d fumbled around for maybe a year in high school, subjecting a few girls to the world’s most awkward kisses and attempts to locate second or third base, but then he’d given that up for good. It was just boys—then men—from that point forward. He didn’t hide his sexuality, but he also didn’t broadcast it, because he didn’t really broadcast anything about his private life. SHIELD didn’t operate under Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, and that was one of the things that drew him there. Fury had put it as succinctly as possible, “I don’t give a damn what you ask or tell or _do_ , just as long as it doesn’t compromise your work. The minute you bring any personal drama into an operation, you are gone.” And Phil was fine with that.

Phil’s nature, when it came to sex at least, was conservative, low-key, and—he wasn’t ashamed to admit--spiritual. He’d been described by one of his former lovers as a Zen master in the bedroom. And though he laughed at the time, he kind of liked the description. Keep it simple and intense. No toys, no gymnastics. Two bodies, two minds, two hearts connecting. Before Clint, Phil’s idea of kinky was sex on the sofa, instead of in bed. Or wearing black silk boxers, instead of white cotton. Or once—leaving his dogtags on.

But Phil had no complaints so far about anything Clint wanted to try to do with, to, or for him—and the man seemed to be a fountain of new ideas every time. Everyone around headquarters remarked that Clint seemed to be loosening Phil up a bit. Little did they know just how much.

But when Clint and Natasha had come to him and explained their arrangement, Phil was thrown off balance. He was having a hard time wrapping his mind around the notion of sharing Clint with anyone else—even if they were, as they claimed, just “friends with benefits.”

Phil turned off the bathroom light, sighed, and pulled Clint into bed with him, hugging him close and stroking his chest.

“So, let me just ask you to explain one more time. Slow and easy. Simple declarative sentences—no rants about judgment and me not understanding Natasha and all that. You know I’m not judging what you two have done in the past—I swear I’m not. I’m just trying to tell you that what you’re asking seems very strange to me. So tell me why it’s important, and how it’s supposed to work?”

Phil turned Clint’s face toward him and kissed him—a slow, deep, reassuring kiss, meant to remind Clint of what he already knew—how completely, head over heels Phil was, and that he was willing to try—at least _try_ —to understand.

Clint propped himself up on a couple of pillows and threw one leg across Phil’s hips, anchoring him, while he explained. “Well, you know Tasha’s got a fuckload of issues, right? And she doesn’t want—or really believe in—long-term relationships, right?”

Phil nodded. Everyone knew Romanov thought romantic relationships were about cheap sentiment, emotional weakness, and lies, and she hadn’t had a steady partner in at least six years. He knew there was some tragedy—or more than one—in her past. He’d asked about it when she first came into SHIELD and been told it was none of his damn business, so he hadn’t asked again.

Clint continued. “But she’s like most of us—she likes sex, and she needs the release and the contact, especially after a major operation in the field, or when things aren’t going well in training.” Clint paused. “Or when she’s trying to avoid murdering Stark.”

Phil smiled and nodded, and Clint kept going. “She’s tried the Internet and a few other things to meet up with guys who just want something simple—no attachments. And she’s met a few decent guys at bars, but usually they’re real idiots or try to get rough with her and she has to . . . uh . . . hurt them.”

Clint looked shifty, probably realizing he needed to edit this for the part of Phil that was still Romanov’s boss and her protector. Phil tried to keep his face blank, emotionless, but if Clint said that Romanov was putting herself in danger or using questionable “escort” services, he was going to get angry. He was going to get dressed, and call her into the office and give her the patented Coulson “respect yourself, respect the uniform” speech.

Clint was suddenly, clearly trying to distract him. He trailed a hand down Phil’s torso and started fingering the waistband of his white boxers (This was a weeknight—Phil was not bringing out the black silk before Friday. There were rules.)

“So, I got sick of seeing her all keyed up and going out into the streets looking for a  hookup in some godforsaken suburb of Prague or Taipei or wherever, so . . . I said I’d take care of her. And that’s what I do. It’s pretty much that simple. She knows I’m not interested in her except as a friend, and she feels the same. But I can scratch her itch, and I can also just be a warm body to sleep with when she needs that.”

Phil shifted, a little restless and uncomfortable with what he now needed to ask. He took Clint’s hand—which had been stroking his cock in a seriously good way—and moved it so it was resting on Clint’s own chest.

“Okay. A two-part question now. Part A: I know you said before that you touch her and . . . and there’s . . . there’s oral sex, and . . . Maybe it shouldn’t matter, but I need to know: Do you have intercourse too? And Part B: If you do, do you enjoy it? Is this arrangement filling some needs for you too? Some needs that aren’t getting met elsewhere? Not getting met by me?”

Phil forced himself to look at Clint when he asked, because he thought he’d be able to tell if Clint was lying, or shading the truth to spare his feelings.

Clint looked back at Phil, smiling. “Before you and I got together—yeah. Yeah, sometimes we fucked the old-fashioned way, and it helped me too. You know this as well as anybody, Phil—when you’re shaken up after a mission, when the adrenaline’s running hot and fast, and when you just need to feel like you’re not alone—it’s good to climb inside someone else for awhile. It’s nice to make someone else feel better, feel human. Nice to let them make you feel human too. So yeah, I did enjoy it.”

Phil could feel his jaw clenching and he tried to let it relax. Clint snuggled closer, and Phil could feel him smiling as he dappled a few kisses on Phil’s shoulder. “But ever since you and I started, I told Tasha my cock belongs exclusively to you, boss. That’s what I tell everybody who asks.” He waited a beat before adding, "And sooo many people ask about my cock, you know."

Phil couldn’t help bursting into laughter. And then he shoved Clint hard, so he rolled over and almost fell off the bed.

“Thought you’d like that,” Clint grinned. “So the answer to Part B is that I don’t have any needs that you’re not taking care of up, down, and sideways. But it’s still really important to me to be there for Natasha. If it was up to me, I’d really like to try bringing her here, letting her sleep with us when she needs it. But if you can’t handle it, then I’ll go to her place. But that means you and I will be apart sometimes, especially when we’re out on a mission. I’m gonna be honest, Phil. When we’re in the field—of course we don’t do anything but focus on the target until it’s complete, but then during debriefing, if it’s a choice between spending the night with you or with Tasha, I’m probaby gonna pick Tasha. I’m sorry.”

 

Phil let a few minutes of silence hang between them, and he felt anger and painful twinges in the nerves at the back of his neck and in the tips of his toes and fingers. He found he was breathing shakily and his pulse rate was increasing. He took Clint’s hand and put it back on his cock, now hard and thick and starting to leak.

Clint pressed close and began licking and moaning into Phil’s mouth. Started a slow, steady rhythm with his fist around Phil’s erection, just the way he liked it. But he didn’t want it that way tonight. Phil needed some kind of reassurance, some kind of evidence that Clint was his, that this thing with Natasha wasn’t a wedge that would eventually break them apart.

Phil wrestled Clint on top of him, shimmying quickly out of his own underwear and then tearing at Clint’s and kicking it and the sheets off the bed. He cupped his hands around the back of Clint’s neck and pulled him closer, kissing him fiercely, his teeth pulling Clint's lower lip until it was swollen and pink.

Clint responded by fucking Phil’s mouth with his tongue and reaching for the lube under his pillow, slicking his fingers and asking breathlessly, words hot and wet against Phil’s ear, “Can you take me now?”

Phil knew he was still stretched from the night before, so he took Clint’s hand and rubbed it over his cock, mixing pre-come and lube, and urging, “Yes, do it. Just do it. Now.” Clint never needed to be asked twice. He pulled Phil’s legs up and let his index finger glide gently around Phil’s hole, then pressed the tip of his cock in, then another inch, and another. When Phil bucked up and gripped his shoulders tight, asking for more, Clint thrust in completely.

Phil closed his eyes and felt Clint adjust his angle, heard him repeating Phil's name a dozen times. The sensations were pure heat and friction. Clint's body always felt ten degrees warmer than Phil's. Everywhere their limbs and torsos came in contact--there was a flame searing his skin. And the slide of Clint's cock, the thrust-and-release against his prostate, Clint's weight pressing down on him, sent Phil's mind soaring. He was trying to get someplace that was just out of reach, just out of reach—until it wasn’t. And he was there at the top, the peak, then falling hard, falling fast, the room spinnin around them. As long as he could, through the aftershocks, he held the image in his mind: he and Clint connected, woven into the fabric of each other, inseparable.

* * * *

Phil told Clint he had no intention of ever moving again. Clint said he liked the thought of Fury demanding Coulson get back to his office and Phil just saying "No fucking way." Clint raised his head from Phil’s chest and did his best impression of Phil’s emotionless voice, “I’ll be doing my paper work here from now on, Nick. Here in a pool of come, with Agent Barton glued to my chest with spunk.”

Phil didn’t want to encourage Barton’s nonsense, but his belly vibrated with laughter anyway. He combed his fingers through Clint’s damp, sweaty hair, but didn’t really feel like talking yet, so they lay in silence for awhile, listening to the hum of the air conditioner and a cricket trapped somewhere in the bathroom.

Clint finally spoke. “I get how hard this is for you, Phil. So, I didn’t mean to make it sound like I was making all the rules, okay? If me with Tasha is something you think you can never deal with—then we’ll work it out. We’ll put it on hold and figure something out. Maybe Tony can hook her up with a vibrator that also makes toast and massages her feet.”

Phil snorted. “You’re an idiot, Barton.”

“Yes, I am. Also a a damn good lay, sir.”

“This is true.” Phil paused and stroked Clint’s back gently with his fingertips.

“So here’s the plan. I don’t want to know what happens when we’re away from HQ. You’re still Barton and Romanov and we’re usually in separate locations anyway. If we’re in close quarters, just do what you need to do, but not while I’m around.”

He paused again and took a breath. “Here. At home—we can try it. You can ask Natasha if she wants to sleep with you here once. We’ll try it and see what happens. I’m not guaranteeing I won’t leave, and I’m not guaranteeing I won’t toss you, her, or both of you out on your asses. We’ll see.”

Clint shifted so he could wrap both arms around Phil and squeeze tight. “But you’ll also ask Fury about doing paperwork in our jizz-covered bed, right? That would be such a turn-on. . . Seriously.”

“I hate you, Barton.”

“Hate you too, Agent Coulson.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

**Author's Note:**

> _Written for the "Friends With Benefits" square of love bingo._


End file.
